No One Here To Save Me
by kissyfur
Summary: Circumstances have brought a damaged Bella back to Forks, and childhood friend Jasper, after a 3-year absence. Jasper has always been the one to patch her up in the past, but is she too broken this time? And why does his friend Edward hate her on sight?
1. Chapter 1

All characters and recognizable plot lines belong to S.M. Everything else is mine.

* * *

Life sucks, then you die.

Yeah, promises, promises.

Unfortunately, the sucking part can last a long, _long_ time before the dying part kicks in. Especially when you're only 17 and have another 60 or so years to look forward to.

Well, maybe. Sooner or later the law of averages would probably kick in and one of my trips to the emergency room might lead to me exiting through an entirely different set of hospital doors. Although by this point I was really tired of hospitals; maybe my next misadventure would have my bypassing the emergency room altogether…

"We will be arriving in Port Angeles in 15 minutes, and the pilot requests that you please return to your seats at this time and fasten your seatbelts in preparation for landing. Also, please make sure that your tray tables are in the fully upright and locked position. Everyone have a nice day!".

My eye twitched in reaction to the hideously cheerful voice coming through the speakers, but I had to admit that I was also somewhat glad for the distraction. I had felt myself sinking further into depression with every minute that passed as the small plane brought me closer and closer to my own personal hell on Earth, and making certain that my already fastened seatbelt was still secure gave me something to do besides brood for a few seconds. When I was certain that it wouldn't come undone upon landing, thereby tossing me into the seat in front and probably resulting in a broken nose at the very least, I forced my thoughts away from their previous track and instead tried to refocus. "Be careful what you wish for" and all that. Although I didn't actually _wish_ for death, wallowing in thoughts of it just might not be wise, all things considered. Instead I tried to turn my mind to something, _anything,_ positive, and immediately a pair of ocean-blue eyes--argh!

Reflexively I pushed the image away, frustrated with myself. I shook my head a little to clear it, then winced as the action caused the dull ache in my back to flare into a sharp, stabbing pain. I closed my eyes and did my best to relax my body as I took slow, measured breaths until the knives retreated and the pain once was once again on the level of background noise. I carefully shifted in my seat, opening my eyes and catching the gaze of the sweet-looking elderly woman sitting two seats down. She looked concerned, and I could tell she was about to ask if I was all right. I really didn't feel up to engaging in conversation at the moment, so I sent her a reassuring smile and then closed my eyes again as I tipped my head back against the seat.

Thank goodness the flight was almost over. I still had trouble sitting still for extended periods of time, and there hadn't been enough of a layover in Seattle to adequately stretch my cramped muscles before boarding the much smaller plane to Port Angeles. Of course, there was still the drive to Forks to look forward to. And the single bathroom in Charlie's house was equipped with a shower stall instead of a bathtub, so I couldn't even anticipate a long, relaxing soak to work out the kinks. And the constant cold and damp was probably going to play hell with-

Okay, enough. Positive thoughts. Come on, think of something.

Anything.

_Wavy blond hair, ocean-blue eyes laughing at me…_

Oh, for God's sake.

_Okay, fine then, if that's the way you want it. I'm tired of keeping him locked up, anyway. You want to think about him and be miserable because it's still going to be hours, if not days, before you actually get to see him again, be my guest._ (Yes, I talk to myself. Frequently. I do all my own stunts, too. Now, moving on…)

I opened the door to the little room in my mind where I kept all my "Jasper memories" stored (fat lot of good it's been doing at keeping him locked away, anyway. Might as well have had one of those bead curtains instead of the double-bolted heavy steel door I equipped it with. Damn that thing was a bitch to open; how the hell did he keep escaping, anyway?), and let myself wallow in memories for the rest of the short flight and landing.

Jasper.

He was the only thing about Forks that I was looking forward to, the one bright spot in the otherwise dreary, rainy little town that I had detested ever since I could remember.

Although, even he hadn't been enough to keep me from putting my foot down with Charlie 3 years ago and absolutely _refusing_ to spend another summer in exile, insisting that Charlie visit me for two weeks each summer instead. And you can be sure that Jasper had raised holy hell about that, too. After blowing up at me over the phone when I tried to explain my decision to him, he had cut off all contact-it was months before he started replying to my emails again, and almost a year before he would talk to me over the phone.

_Wait a minute. Wasn't the whole point of opening up the Jasper room to think of positive things? Figures that the first thing to come out would be what I like to refer to as "The Dark Ages". It's all that bitch Pandora's fault, her and her goddamned box set the precedent. "Hey, open me up and watch as all the horrors and pestilences of the world come flying out. Although as a small consolation prize I DO have some hope here in the bottom if you've managed survive the main attraction. Come back tomorrow for an encore showing-same time, same place." _

Yeah, because talking to myself isn't strange enough, I also tend to ramble when I'm doing it. Give me a break, I'm talking to _myself_ here, who's around to care if I ramble a bit?

Okay, so now that we've gotten the bad part over with, can we take some time to focus on the GOOD memories please? Thank you.

* * *

In all fairness, I could understand Jasper's anger at what he considered my abandonment. After all, we had been summer buddies for years, ever since his family had moved into the house down the street from Charlie the summer I was eight.

When the Whitlocks had moved to Forks, Washington from Texas, their son and I had immediately bonded over our mutual disgust for the rain and wet that were a constant in this tiny little town on the Olympic Peninsula. We had quickly discovered that we had a lot in common, both being only children with…well, let's just say less than ideal home situations.

Of course, Jasper had considered it highly unfair that I got to go back to the land of sun at the end of August while he was stuck in Forks, and starting the summer we were nine we had tried in vain each year to petition our parents to let him stay with Renee and I in Phoenix over Christmas break. That never did pan out, but while I was in Forks for 2 months each summer we were practically inseparable--the tall blond boy with deep blue eyes and easy smile and the small girl with chestnut hair, pale skin, and solemn brown eyes.

Jasper was my rock, my constant, my best friend and my better half. He always seemed to know how I was feeling and had an uncanny knack of showing up just when I needed him most--whether it was calling me long distance after a particularly embarrassing day at school or showing up just in time to rescue me from one of Charlie's fishing trips. Oh God, the fishing trips! Just for that alone I could have loved him for all of eternity.

Over the years Jasper had saved me from countless fishing trips, volunteering to "keep an eye on Bella" while Charlie headed down to spend Sunday at his favorite spot on the lake. Charlie was good with the situation after he got over the guilt of leaving me alone during what was supposed to be our father-daughter time. After all, as I pointed out, I was really much safer when kept as far away from the water as possible. It helped that he was under the impression that us kids spent the days at Jasper's house; he probably wouldn't have been so quick to agree if he realized that Jasper's parents had a mostly "hands-off" philosophy when it came to raising their son. Basically, as long as he came home at night and showed up for family functions they considered that good enough.

We usually stayed away from town, mostly because when you're the Chief of Police's daughter people tend to notice you, and I didn't want word getting back to Charlie that I was not, in fact, under the unflinching gaze of parental supervision while I was with Jasper.

Consequently, we spent a lot of time wandering the countryside and exploring the woods behind our houses. The damp, cold, dreary woods. The woods that were constantly wet and full of treacherously slippery fallen logs and muddy trails, even in the middle of summer. It still beat fishing, though.

Jasper had started carrying a small first aid kit that contained bandages, Neosporin, and moist towelets everywhere we went by the time we were ten. He was in charge of carrying it because I refused to. My argument was that it seemed like giving in and admitting to the impossibility that I would make it through a single day without bleeding. Ever practical, Jasper had laughed that it might not be impossible, but it darn sure would be a miracle, and the bandages were going with us whether I liked it or not. As usual Jasper was right, and over the years had patched up dozens of my scrapes and skinned knees and elbows with the "Bella kit" as he liked to call it.

He half carried me home the day I fell and sprained my ankle as we walked along the top of a downed fir tree, and called for an ambulance the time I broke my arm falling out of the apple tree in his backyard. That one took some quick talking to explain to Charlie why we had been alone in Jasper's backyard when the ambulance came, and for a while there I thought the jig was up. After that we agreed that "Bella doesn't get along very well with trees", and it might be better if I just stayed earthbound from then on. Worked for me.

When we were twelve he told me about kissing Jessica Stanley behind the cafeteria on the last day of school.

It was an unusually sunny day in early July, and we were sitting side-by-side on the grass in a small clearing about half a mile from Charlie's house. It was our favorite spot to go when the sun was shining; we would lie back and watch the clouds go by, making patterned shadows on the ground around us as they passed. Entire afternoons were sometimes spent talking and making up shapes in the clouds, but that day I didn't even glance up at the sky, instead glaring at Jasper as he quietly made his confession.

Theoretically I realized that Jasper had his own life outside of our summers together, and that he did things without me and knew other people just as I did when I was back home. But important things we always waited on so we could do them for the first time together.

We had each smoked our first (and only) cigarette together in this very clearing the summer before, hacking and choking our way through the entire thing before I got sick and Jasper held my hair back and used one of the ever-present towelets to wipe my face afterward.

We had our first sips of alcohol one day when Jasper's dad left the liquor cabinet unlocked and we snuck out a bottle of scotch. I didn't throw up that day, but it was a close thing and for a while I thought my stomach was going to explode.

So as I watched Jasper's index finger nervously trail aimless patterns through the grass as he talked I felt a tight ball growing in my stomach that reminded me of the aftermath of the Scotch incident. I couldn't seem to form a complete, coherent thought, and one half-formed question after another came stumbling out of my mouth when he was finished.

"I thought we always…why didn't you wait…didn't you want-" but I was cut off by his warm lips suddenly pressing against mine. And then they weren't just pressing, they were MOVING, and involuntarily my lips parted slightly in a soft gasp. He angled his head more and parted his lips the slightest bit and then his mouth was sliding over mine and my head was spinning and the ball of fire in my stomach was still there but now it was different and my lips were tingling and I couldn't breath and there was a rushing in my ears and everything was black and then there were bursts of color and the whole world was _gone_.

When he lifted his head away from mine I opened eyes that I hadn't remembered closing and we looked at each other wonderingly for several seconds, both panting slightly. Then Jasper smiled a little and ducked his head as his hand started tracing patterns on the grass again.

"I wanted to practice before I kissed you for the first time, so I would know…so it would be…and I heard that Jessica gets around, and I thought, um…" he looked up at me with red creeping up his neck, and I was mesmerized by the phenomenon of _Jasper blushing! _

As if his blush had triggered my own, I felt my own face turn red as I looked down and mumbled "well, um, it was really…uh, nice….so I guess….ah…do you want to…I mean…I wouldn't mind…"

I felt him move closer, and then glanced up quickly to gauge his expression and was caught by the look in his eyes. Slowly, unbidden, my fingertips reached out and touched his bottom lip. As his face came closer and closer to my own, I didn't realize how far I had been leaning forward until my other hand slipped out from underneath me and I did a faceplant in the grass in front of him.

There was a beat of surprised silence, then Jasper's laughter rang out through the still air as he helped me sit back up. I felt like my whole body was on fire with humiliation and something else that I couldn't quite put a name to as he held my face still with one hand and gently brushed off bits of dirt and grass with the other until I shoved his hands away and vigorously rubbed my sleeve over my face instead. Still chuckling, he pressed a quick kiss to my bright crimson cheek and said "come on, we better get back before any blood gets spilt." He pulled me to my feet and put his arm around my shoulders as we made our way back along the well-worn path through the trees to Charlie's house. Every now and then he would pick a bit of debris out of my hair and grin at my ill-tempered grumbles.

* * *

Suddenly I realized that not only had the plane landed, but the seats around me were fast emptying as people hurried to depart and go claim their luggage and loved ones. Slowly I stood up and made my way to the aisle, being careful not to trip as I squeezed through the small opening between the seats. Charlie would be waiting for me, but I couldn't bring myself to hurry as I thought about the last leg of the journey that I still had to make--the hour-long trip from Port Angeles. In the police cruiser. With Charlie. At least I knew that I wouldn't have to worry about making small talk; one of the best thinks about Charlie is that he doesn't feel the need to clutter up perfectly good silence.

As I emerged through the doorway into the airport, I glanced around and spotted him waiting for me about 20 feet away. I raised my hand to shoulder height and gave him a small wave which he returned with a quick swipe of his own hand through the air. I made my way over to him and we looked at each other for a moment before Charlie said "well, we better go get your bags" and turned away. There were no awkward hugs, for which I was grateful. As Charlie got into the cruiser he gave me a small smile and said "It's good to have you here, Bells." I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded and looked out the windshield. Another thing about Charlie-he doesn't talk much, but when he says something you know he means it. And it did help, a little, knowing that my being here pleased him. Not much, but a little.

The car ride mostly passed in silence, as I stared out the window at the never-ending green that passed by. Grass, trees, bushes, moss--everything was so _green_. No matter how many times I had come here, it still always shocked me anew and made me feel like a visitor to an alien planet. Of course, I told myself, I had never been here in September before, so maybe it actually WAS greener than I remembered since the heavier fall rains had already replaced the lighter summer rains. I almost expected to see the Jolly Green Giant come striding along, towering above the trees and head lost in the fog as he "ho ho ho'd" his way through the land that sun forgot. As we crossed a small creek I was almost amused to note that even the bridges were painted green, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did neither.

As we neared town, I noticed Charlie glance at me from the corner of his eye and shift slightly in his seat. Since this was the Charlie version of jumping up and down and waving his arms at me, I looked over at him with surprise. "What?"

"When you told me you were moving up here, I kind of got you a homecoming present. Now I know how you feel about gifts" he said with a quick glance in my direction, "but I know you like riding around in the cruiser even less, so I bought you a truck. It's not much, but it runs great and is real dependable. You remember Billy Black?" I nodded, feeling a tightening in my throat as I sensed where this might be heading. "Well, he's in a wheelchair now and so he can't drive anymore. His boy Jake has done a real good job of keeping Billy's old truck in good shape, but Jake would rather drive around in his little toy car, so Billy was looking at selling her. I remembered that you always liked the old thing, so I thought you might want to have it." Just then we arrived at Charlie's house and pulled up into the driveway next to the bulbous-nosed old red rust bucket.

I was stunned. Not only was this one of the longest speeches I had ever heard Charlie make, but I was absurdly touched that he remembered such an insignificant little thing as the fact that I had always loved Billy Black's old red beater. I hadn't seen Billy or the truck for at least 6 years, and hadn't realized Charlie even noticed how I used to climb up in the cab and bounce on the bench seat when Billy would come visit.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Charlie clearing his throat and saying "I suppose it was silly to buy it without asking you first, just because you used to like it as a kid. If you want something else I'm sure Billy wouldn't mind buying it back..."

"No, no, I want it, definitely." I said as I scrambled out of the car and stopped there in the driveway to admire my beast. It wasn't pretty, but it was mine, and I instantly loved it. Her. She had probably once been a deep maroon, but over the eight hundred years since she had rolled off the factory floor her paint had faded to a dull rust-red and some of the body parts had started, well, _sagging _a bit. But she was clean and had what looked like brand spanking new tires on her, and best of all she was MINE.

"Well, that's good" said Charlie, and he surprised me again by resting his hand on my shoulder. We stood that way for a second or two, then he removed his hand and walked around to the back of the cruiser. "I'll go ahead and take your bags up to your room. It's mostly the same, but I bought new sheets and stuff for the bed. The saleslady picked them out, she said most teenage girls would like the purple, but if you want we can get something else."

By this point we had arrived at the top of the stairs and I followed Charlie into the room that had been mine since before I could remember. It was small and sparsely furnished with a bed, a nightstand with an alarm clock, a dresser, a rocking chair in the corner, and a small wooden desk with a lamp and what looked to be an ancestor of the modern day computer sitting on it. The bed was made up with light purple bedding that actually brightened up the room a bit.

"No, this is great. Thanks Ch..Dad." I stood there in the center of the room, again surprised at the number of words that had left Charlie's mouth in the last few minutes. He set the bags down and stood there looking around for a few seconds, then turned and headed for the door. Another great thing about Charlie; he doesn't hover. Just before walking out of the room he half turned and without quite looking at me said quietly "I want you to be happy here, Bells". Then he was gone.

I slowly walked over to the bed and sat down, running my hand over the comforter. Then I stood and made my way over to the small window and looked out. I had a good view of the driveway and the street from the house to the corner, but there wasn't anything else to look at but more trees-there were no houses on the other side of road.

I turned around again and started unpacking. It didn't take long, as I had never really felt the need to surround myself with _stuff_, and most of my clothing had been discarded as not appropriate for the cold, wet Pacific Northwest. I would probably have to go shopping sometime in the near future if I didn't want to end up wearing the same 3 hoodies to school every day. That pretty much meant a trip to Port Angeles, and I briefly wondered what kind of mileage Bessy got. Probably about eight gallons to the mile, but it would still be better than the humiliation of having to go anywhere in the most conspicuous vehicle within a 40-mile radius.

Looking out the window again I noticed Charlie getting in his cruiser and pulling out of the driveway. He had taken time off work to pick me up from the airport, but now he had to go back to making the streets safe for the good people of Forks. I watched as he made the turn off the dead-end road onto the busier cross-street, and was about to turn away when a blue pickup turned my way. There were only 3 houses at this end of the street, and when a glance at the clock showed that it was almost 3:00, I had a good idea of just who might be in that blue truck. I turned and ran down the stairs and out the front door before skidding to a stop at the porch railing, grabbing hold of it instinctively. The truck had come to a stop in front of the white house closest to the intersection, and as I watched the driver door opened and a tall figure clad in jeans, boots and a dark t-shirt stepped out. It looked like he glanced over at Charlie's driveway before he shut the door and headed for his house, but the distance was too far for me to be certain.

As he headed up the walk to his house, I stumbled down the porch steps and stopped at the bottom, unsure of my next move. The tall figure started to take the first step up to the porch, then stopped and again looked toward Charlie's house. That time he saw me standing there, and after the briefest of hesitations started eating up the distance between us in long, smooth strides. As he moved closer I could make out the slightly too long wavy blond hair that curled at the ends, and that was all I needed. I launched myself across the space still separating us and threw myself into his arms, almost knocking him off his feet. I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my head in his chest, and his arms came up around me and pulled me up tightly against him. His hand began stroking my hair and I heard him murmuring something in a soft voice against the top of my head, but I couldn't make out the words over the gasping sound of someone crying. It was only when I turned my head and felt the wetness on his shirt that I realized it was me.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie and Renee met shortly after Renee graduated from High School, and were married 4 months later. She was eighteen and he was twenty. They bought a small house at the end of a dead-end road in his hometown of Forks, Washington, and I came along less than a year later. Less than a year after that Renee left, taking me with her. There were no big fights, no screaming or throwing projectiles or ultimatums; just a cab sitting in the street in front of the house one day when Charlie came home from work, Renee and the driver loading our luggage into the trunk. Her parting words to him were "Face it Charlie, things just didn't work out. I'm sorry, but I just really, REALLY hate Forks."

She moved us to Phoenix initially because it was the complete opposite of the tiny little town that was the rain capital of the United States, but soon fell in love with everything about it-the heat, the dryness, the bustle of the metropolitan area and the stark beauty of the arid landscape that was a short drive away from the city. We moved around a lot, especially during the early years, hopping from one side of the city to the other. But we never left Phoenix.

I was thirteen when I mustered up the courage to ask Renee the question that had been circling around in my mind for years, something I just couldn't avoid anymore. It was such a simple question on the surface, almost pointless really, and I couldn't figure out why the answer was so important to me. But it was, somehow, and I finally couldn't keep myself from asking it: since she hated Forks so much, why had she never asked Charlie to leave with her?

We were making dinner in the tiny kitchen of our apartment, and after studying me for a quiet minute Renee turned off the burner where she was browning burger for the tacos and sat down at the miniscule round table where we took our meals. She motioned for me to sit next to her, and I left the block of cheese I had been grating on the counter as I took the other chair. I was unaccountably terrified, and wished frantically that I could rewind time to 30 seconds ago, that I could take it back. That I had never asked that silly question about ancient history that didn't matter a bit anymore.

After a moment she began to speak, looking directly into my eyes the entire time.

"Honey, that dreary little town is a part of Charlie, and it would have killed him to be away from it, just like it was killing me to stay. He might have left if I asked him to, I don't know, but then he would have been the one who was miserable--and in the end things still would have turned out the same. It was nobody's fault-we were young and in love, and rushed into marriage without really knowing each other. But sometimes people just need different things out of life, and love isn't always enough to bridge the gap. It didn't work out, but I don't regret it, and I know Charlie doesn't either, because in the end the only thing we had in common was you and how much we both love you. More than anything else in the world."

With that Renee smiled at me, gently brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over my eye back into place, and went back to the stove. I silently set the table and wondered at how my flighty and slightly crazy mother could sometimes be so eerily perceptive. She somehow knew that my question had been less about what I actually said and more about my wondering if I was somehow the reason she couldn't bear to stay around. Had it been less about hating Forks and more about not wanting to be tied down to a family that had caused her to run? Or had Charlie not been ready for the addition of a baby and somehow changed after I was born, causing him to be a different person from the one Renee had fallen in love with? Did my very existence ruin the happiness they had found in each other?

I guess every child of divorced parents wonders if it was their fault, and looking back now I wonder if Renee had perhaps been practicing that speech for years, just waiting for the right opportunity to give it. Or maybe I was correct at the time, and she just simply knew the exact right thing to say at the exact right time. In the end I guess it doesn't really matter, because with a few words she laid to rest fears that I hadn't even fully realized I harbored, and had never articulated even to myself.

I never forgot that conversation, possibly because it was one of the only ones we ever had where our positions of Mother and Daughter had been clearly defined and easy to fall into.

For most of my life those positions had been reversed, I the steady parent who spent my life looking out for Renee, the impetuous but endearing child. Well, not completely. After a few years where she had somehow managed to go to college while working two jobs and taking care of a toddler, Renee had done a decent job of supporting the two of us while working as a Kindergarten teacher for the last 12 years. But while she was bright, loving and unfailingly cheerful, Renee wasn't exactly the most responsible person on the planet.

The first several years of my life were marked by frequent moves, power outages due to unpaid electricity bills, and dinners of Top Ramen because Renee had forgotten to do the grocery shopping for the week. I had learned at a young age that my sweet, scatterbrained mother needed somebody to take care of her, and since none of the men she dated lasted more than a month or two, I was the only person around to do it.

I learned to balance the checkbook, pay the bills, make out grocery lists, and eventually I took over the job of grocery shopping completely. I reminded her when it was time to pick up her dry-cleaning, make dentist appointments, and take the car in for oil changes. By the time I was old enough to drive, I started taking care of all that stuff myself-it was just easier.

I gave Renee THE TALK for the first time when I was eleven and she was getting ready for her second date with some artist she was crazy about, and repeated it several times over the next five years, every time she met a new "Mr. Right". Not that she paraded a string of men through my life or anything, I actually met very few of them. Flaky she might have been, but she wasn't about to actually bring a man home to meet her daughter unless she had an idea that he might last for more than a few weeks. Most of them couldn't hold her attention longer than that, so it was usually just the two of us.

Until last March, when Phil showed up and swept her off her dainty little feet.

3 weeks and 8 dates after meeting him, Renee had invited Phil to our apartment for dinner. He showed up with a bottle of sparkling cider and a bouquet of Petunias, and by the end of the evening I had quietly began to hope. Maybe I should have been icked out by the fact that he was almost eight years her junior, but Renee had always been much younger than her physical age, and as the weeks and months went by it became obvious that they were completely smitten with each other.

That October Phil proposed, and they married one year to the day after he came to dinner for the first time. It was a Tuesday, which seemed like a strange day for a wedding, but Renee was adamant that they marry on the anniversary of the night she knew that he was The One. It was silly and sweet and romantic and just so _Renee_. It was supposed to be happily ever after.

* * *

Now as I crushed myself into Jaspers chest, I cried for Renee and Phil and happily ever afters that crumble into dust. I cried for Charlie, who had never gotten over my mother and still kept a copy of their wedding portrait in pride of place on the mantel over the fireplace. And most of all I cried for me.

I had thought that I was being strong, that I was dealing and handling things so well. I now realized that I had simply been saving my tears, holding them back for the last 3 months, waiting to let them out until I could be with the one person who always fixed me. Who held me and helped me and made the pain bearable. The only person who had ever loved me because he wanted to, not because he had to.

Gradually I calmed down enough to notice that we were sitting on Charlie's front steps. Or rather, Jasper was sitting on the steps and I was sitting sideways across his lap, my arms now tight around his neck and my face burrowed into his shoulder. His cheek was pressed against my hair and his arms were still wrapped around me, one hand stroking down my back over my hair and the other cupping my hip, his thumb making soothing circles along the top of my thigh. I realized that I was no longer sobbing, although my breath hitched erratically and tears were still seeping from my closed eyes. I slowly became aware of other things, like the fact that my nose was running, Jasper's shirt was soaked with tears and snot, and it felt like my hair was wet under his face.

Wait…what!? I tried to pull back so that I could look up at him, but as soon as I shifted his arms tightened and dragged me back against his chest. He sucked in a ragged breath, and my suspicion became a horrifying certainty. Jasper was crying. _I made him cry_.

Guilt and amazement pushed their way into me, slightly dulling the sharp edges of misery that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. In all the years I had known him, I had never seen Jasper cry. All the times I had been hurt and he had taken care of me, he had never joined me in my tears. When his parents hired a babysitter for several weeks every summer instead of taking him with them on their vacations he shrugged it off and said he would rather spend the time here with me anyway. Even the night he tried to climb the tree up to my window and fell as he reached for the windowsill he hadn't cried. He had lain on his back on the ground for several minutes as I half-fell down the stairs in my rush to get to him, then gingerly sat up, declared that trees were now off-limits for BOTH of us, and limped home.

That had been during my last visit to Forks (although we hadn't known that at the time), the summer we were both fourteen. For the next week I had gone over to his house each morning and helped him put on his shirt because he couldn't lift his arms enough to do it himself. The thrill of seeing Jasper shirtless had been seriously dampened by the sight of the many-colored bruises decorating his back, ribs and shoulders; purple, green and yellow were definitely NOT his colors. Of course, it wasn't so off-putting that we didn't spend several minutes sitting on his bed kissing after getting his shirt on each morning, but it definitely kept things from progressing any further. The one time I got carried away and wrapped my arms tightly around him he had yanked away from me with a pained hiss, but still there had been no tears.

So my sudden revelation left me stunned, to say the least. Since he wouldn't let me pull away to look at him, I loosened my grip around his neck and reached one hand up to touch his cheek. I had been expecting to feel the wetness there, but somehow it still took me by surprise. I tried again to move, and again he yanked me back. "Jazz" I tried to say, but nothing came out through the phlegm and tears in my throat. I sniffled and cleared my throat and tried again. "Jazz, you're crying", I managed to force the words through my vocal cords, but they still came out barely above a hoarse whisper. He didn't answer, but I felt him take another deep breath and then press his lips against my hair. I tried to lean back, and this time he let me move away ever so slightly.

I looked up at him across the few inches separating our faces, my fingers gently tracing the tear tracks down his cheek. "I've never seen you cry before" I whispered, and his blue eyes closed for a moment before opening and looking at me with such pain it took what little breath I still had away. "I can't help it. You're breaking my heart, Bella". He reached up and pushed my hair away from my face, then I felt his hands on my face, thumbs under my eyes wiping away the tears that had slowed to a small trickle. I closed my eyes and hitched in another breath-it was a little easier now-before trying to apologize.

"I'm s-" was all I got out before Jasper's hands tightened on my cheeks and he growled out "Isabella Marie Swan, don't you _dare_ say you're sorry!" My eyes flew open agian at the anger in his voice, and his eyes that had been full of my pain five seconds ago were now blazing with fury. "I know that's what was about to come out of your mouth, so you can just stop right there. I'm sick to death of sorry! When you sprained your ankle you were sorry that I had to practically carry you back to the house. You caught pneumonia after falling into the river and you were sorry for being such a bother when Charlie and I tried to take care of you. Every time I patched up a scrape or cleaned a skinned knee or held your hair while you threw up you said you were sorry. And every morning when you had to help me put on my shirt you apologized till you were practically blue in the face for me getting hurt, even though I was the stupid fucking IDIOT that fell out of the GODDAMN tree! And I let you, Bella. I let you apologize to me all those times because I knew that it was what you needed to do, it was who you were. But I swear to God, Bella, if you dare say you're sorry right now…"

His breathing was harsh, his hands were pressing almost painfully into my face, and his eyes were like blue flames as they burned into my wide shock-filled ones. I wasn't able to form a coherent thought, much less find my voice. In all the years I had known him, Jasper had only ever yelled at me once-the time I told him that I wasn't coming to Forks anymore. And that had been over the phone, so I hadn't been able to see his face as he called me a selfish bitch who only thought of herself and didn't give a damn about anyone else's feelings as long as I got what I wanted. But even so, I sensed that this was a different kind of anger than that had been. Very different.

I was frozen, unsure of what to with this angry, slightly frightening Jasper. I'm not sure what he saw in my eyes, but whatever it was had his dimming slightly as he visibly fought for control. His hands slowly relaxed their grip on my face and he tilted his head forward until our foreheads were resting against each other. His breath washed over me in a soft breeze as he took slow, deliberate breaths. In…_pause_…Out…_pause_…In…_pause_…Out.

"Bella," his voice was whisper soft, his temper now on a tight rein but still visible in the set of his jaw. "You've just spent hours coming apart in my arms, crying as if your world was shattered and there was no possibility of it ever being put back together again. I can't even imagine how much you have to be suffering right now, and I'm supposed to listen to you apologize for it? All I want is to be able to take your pain away, and you don't know what it does to me to know that I can't, that this isn't something I can fix. How can I listen to you say you're sorry for breaking my heart, when I would gladly rip it out of my chest, set it on fire and watch it burn if it meant you would stop hurting? So please, Bella, if you have any concern at all for my sanity, _please_ don't say it."

Wow.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the long delay, but unfortunately I just don't have as much time to write as I expected when I started posting this story. The story is all plotted out (looking like about 25 chapters at this point), it's just the process of putting it "down on paper" that is taking forever. I'm not exactly happy with this chapter; parts of it are extremely awkward and it was actually supposed to be a lot longer and cover part of the next day as well, but I just couldn't get the transition right. As the story picks up time will move more quickly, and hopefully chapters will come in more around the 5000K-7000K mark.

* * *

"_All I want is to be able to take your pain away, and you don't know what it does to me to know that I can't, that this isn't something I can fix. How can I listen to you say you're sorry for breaking my heart, when I would gladly rip it out of my chest, set it on fire and watch it burn if it meant you would stop hurting? So please, Bella, if you have any concern at all for my sanity, please don't say it."_

_Wow._

"How…how…" I swallowed and shook my head slightly, causing Jasper's head to move with mine. "What do I say to something like that? I don't know…that's just the most…I mean…" But then his thumb was pressing against my lips and he was pulling back so he could look me in the face again. There was a little half-smile on his lips, and I saw with relief that his eyes were once again the clear blue I remembered, and the corners were tilted up slightly in amusement.

"Bella?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

I sputtered indignantly for a few seconds, then Jasper was laughing in that soft little way that always made my heart melt as he pushed me off his lap to sit next to him on the step. Irritation forgotten, I leaned into his side with his arm wrapped around my back and my head against his shoulder. We had sat like this a thousand times before, and I immediately felt a sense of calmness ease its way through my body at the familiar feel of him surrounding me. I closed my eyes and sighed in pleasure as I relaxed against him, suddenly feeling tired and achy as the events of the last 12 hours caught up with me. It had been a long day, and I was more than ready for the peace that stole over me as we sat there in silence. It had been so long since I had felt this way, too long since I had been able to take this simple comfort that he offered, that we gave each other. It was so good to finally be home.

Home. Charlie. Oh crap.

I jumped up, my feet tangling together and almost tumbling me down the steps until Jasper grabbed my waist to steady me. "What time is it?" Jasper pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it.

"A little after 5:00. Why?"

"Charlie should be home in less than an hour, I still need to make dinner, and I haven't even LOOKED at what he's got in the kitchen. Knowing him there's probably about 3 years worth of fish in the freezer, beer in the fridge, and not much else. Maybe there's some spaghetti noodles or something around from last time I was here."

I was mostly talking to myself by this time, headed into the kitchen with Jasper following me to lean in the doorway as he watched me open cupboards and dig through the fridge. I found the spaghetti noodles right where I expected, and took a moment to wonder if they really _were_ 3 years old before I decided it didn't matter. Noodles have a long shelf life, right? By some miracle there was a jar of sauce shoved in the back of another cupboard behind 6 cans of clam chowder (don't look at the expiration date, _don't look at the expiration date_! I chanted to myself), and I even turned up a pound of hamburger sitting front and center when I opened the freezer door. I put the burger on a plate and tossed it into the microwave before I pulled the pasta pot out from under the counter, filled it with water and set it on the back burner to boil.

I was looking around for something to occupy the next 3 minutes until the burger was finished defrosting when I felt Jasper's hands settle lightly on my shoulders. "I'll keep an eye on things down here for a minute if you want to go wash up. No offense, but you're kind of a mess, and unless things have changed drastically in the last few years, I'm going to assume you would rather your dad not know you spent the afternoon crying."

Oh, God. My hands flew up to my face, feeling the hot and swollen skin of my cheeks and around my eyes. I didn't even want to think about the dried tears and snot that was probably decorating it as well. Mumbling a quick thanks I flew up the stairs and down the hall to the single bathroom to survey the damage. I almost shrieked when I first caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror over the sink. I looked like…well, I couldn't think of anything to compare it with, but it was bad. My face was indeed swollen and covered with a blotchy red pattern all the way from my forehead down my neck. My nose was bright red and inflamed looking, and my eyes were no more than puffy red slits in my puffy red face. Splashing some cool water on it was NOT going to be enough, so I turned the shower on and stripped out of my clothes. Stepping in, I turned my face up into the spray and adjusted the temperature until the water was as cold as I could stand it.

I spent several minutes shivering under the frigid spray, counting the seconds off in my head (1_32 Mississippi, 133 Mississippi, 134 Mississippi_) to keep my mind occupied and away from more dangerous territory. When I reached 300 I decided that subjecting myself to hypothermia was probably counterproductive, and turned the flow off. After drying off I turned back to the mirror and examined myself closely. I was still puffy around the eyes, but nothing too noticeable. The redness had been replaced by pallor, but being as I was normally quite pale anyway I thought I would pass muster. I quickly redressed and ran a brush through my tangled hair before making my way back down the stairs. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped and leaned in the doorway much the same as Jasper had done 10 minutes before.

He was standing in front of the stove, stirring the hamburger that was browning in the frying pan. The noodles were happily bubbling away, and the jar of sauce was opened on the counter. Normally I would have joked about not knowing he was so domesticated, but after everything that had passed this afternoon I just wasn't certain enough of where we stood with each other. As much as both of us had tried to move past his earlier bout of temper, his declaration was still there sitting quietly in the corner of my mind, just waiting to raise it's hand and demand that I acknowledge it's presence. I wasn't ready to do that yet, but at the same time the easy banter that we usually enjoyed just seemed a little out of reach at the moment.

So instead of cracking wise, I walked up beside him and silently held my hand out for the spatula. He handed it to me and stepped out of the way so that I could take over. I thought he would retreat to his place in the doorway, but he surprised me by moving in behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist while resting his cheek against the side of my head. Once again I felt the steady calm creep through me, and relaxed back against him as we stood there in front of the stove. After a minute I took a deep breath and leaned my head back against his shoulder.

"Jazz?" I whispered, eyes closed.

"Hm?"

"Thank you." For everything. For holding me and letting me cry. For all the weird, wonderful, corny as hell things you said earlier that I will spend hours analyzing as soon as I let myself think about them. For knowing that I wouldn't want Charlie to see that I fell apart as soon as he left me alone, and for taking care of dinner while I tried to repair the damage. For being the best friend I ever had, and for hearing and understanding all these unspoken words that accompany the two small spoken ones.

"Anytime."

I don't know if I would have said more or not, but right then the timer went off for the noodles. I drained them while he mixed the sauce in with the burger and set it to simmer on the stove. When everything was settled I turned to face him as he stood there with his hip leaned up against the counter and his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I would, but with it being my first night back and all, it might be best if it was just me and Charlie tonight. Can I take a rain check?"

"Sure" he said as he straightened up and came toward me. His arms wrapped around me in a gentle hug for a few seconds before he headed for the door. Halfway out onto the front porch he stopped and turned to me. "It's supposed to be sunny tomorrow."

I felt the surprised smile on my face as I replied. "All day?"

"Slight chance of evening showers. But other than that, yeah, all day."

I though for a second. "I really have to hit the grocery store in the morning, how does noon sound?"

His answering smile nearly took my breath away. "Sounds good."

And he was gone.

* * *

If I had harbored ideas that Charlie's uncharacteristic verbosity of this afternoon might continue into the evening, those thoughts were laid to rest soon after he walked through the front door a little before 6:00 that evening. I had been sitting at the kitchen table when I heard his cruiser pull up, and standing up, made my way through the doorway into the living room just as the front door opened and he walked through. Looking up, he acknowledged my presence with a grunt, then looked back down as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack beside the door, following it with his gun belt.

Then we both just stood there for a few moments, not looking at each other and not knowing what to say, until I finally broke the silence by announcing that dinner was ready.

Charlie frowned a bit. "You didn't have to do that, Bells."

"It's okay, I'm used to cooking."

And that was it. Dinner was spent in a not-uncomfortable silence broken only by the sounds of forks scraping against plates, and we didn't speak again until I was headed toward the stairs on my way to bed for the night. I stopped 2 steps up and half-turned to face the living room, where Charlie was sprawled in his chair with a beer in his hand, watching some kind of sports programming.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, Bells?" He looked up briefly from the screen, before once again focusing in on two guys with headsets arguing back and forth about something or other.

"I was thinking of heading over to the market in the morning, take the truck on a test run."

He looked a little embarrassed as he told me I didn't have to do that, that he could pick up some groceries on his way home from the station.

"No, it's okay, I want to. Besides, he-or I guess she-who is on dinner duty should probably be the one to do the shopping, anyway."

"Well, if you're sure. I'll put some extra grocery money in the jar so you can get whatever you think you need."

"Okay, thanks. 'Night Ch..Dad"

"'Night, Bells."

A little while later I stood under the shower (blissfully hot this time) and wished for a nice big bathtub--or at the very least a handheld showerhead--as I piled my hair on top of my head and tried to position myself so that the water could beat down on my lower back. I thought about the amber bottle I had stashed in my nightstand earlier, trying to decide if I would need it tonight. I really hated the way the pills made me feel, and I especially hated taking them at night--the dreams they brought on were extremely vivid and intensely disturbing--but the way my back and leg were crying, I was pretty sure I would need one if I wanted to sleep at all tonight.

And since the alternative to sleeping was to lay awake thinking, I swallowed the pill.

* * *

The first thing I noticed was the music, soft and muted, but there in the background if you were listening for it. I shifted and heard the familiar squeak as the seat shifted under my weight, felt the pressure as the restraint pulled against my front. I kept my eyes tightly closed and started humming under my breath; block out the music, don't look around, pretend you're somewhere else…anywhere else. Not here. Not now. There's nobody in front of you, just a couple of feet away. Nobody is turning their head to look back at you. Nobody is opening their mouth to say

"Bella?"

Earsplitting noise--screeching, screaming; jarring, frenetic movement--spinning, twisting, flying; overly bright, impossible colors--exploding, fragmenting, then slowly bleeding away to black.

"Bella?!"

Pain. Impossible, overwhelming, unbearable. Alone in the dark, can't move, can't speak. Silent screams, immobile writhing.

"BELLA!!"

I bury myself in the pain, pull the blackness over me like a blanket--wrap myself in a cocoon of suffering and agony and refuse to leave. The pain is unendurable, but I want it, crave it, _need_ it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, behind the screaming and the burning, I know that this is where I belong--that if I can just stay here in this place and time that everything will be okay. There is no future, no past, no world but the searing and the burning and the utter darkness, and my only wish is to live in it forever.

But life sucks, and then you don't die. The pain fades, and I open my eyes.


End file.
